


I Just Want You (For My Own)

by thelostcolony



Series: On The Twelve Days Of Christmas, I Gave To My Best Friend... [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, I've never actually seen OUAT aside from Aladdin's episode so I hope this is in character, The Gay Shit is Here, this is also a belated Christmas gift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-25 23:31:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9851921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelostcolony/pseuds/thelostcolony
Summary: Christmas parties are overrated....Sort of.





	

**Author's Note:**

> and the working title for this one was "On the second day of Christmas, my two moms gave to me: A fairytale character party" and hot dog am I glad i didn't end up going with that tbh

The guests spill into the hallway from every downstairs room, chatter and laughter and the cheerful notes of  _ Jingle Bell Rock _ filling the air. The tinkling of plates and glasses clearly rings out, sounds that are customary to a party, and there are different clusters of people spread all about the foyer, living room, dining room, and kitchen. The guests are a massive sea of red and green and white and obnoxious hats, the brightness of the colors they wear only enhanced by the various lights strung around the halls and doorways. And, as if to top it all off, the guests are totally unapologetic about the noise, unabashedly shouting over one another to be heard or else chortling uproariously. Emma gazes at it all from her position on the stair landing, a drink in one hand - untouched, as of right now - and the other hanging absently against the railing, palm itchy from the pine that they’ve wrapped around the banister. If there’s a fond smile playing at her lips, she doesn’t need to acknowledge it.

There’s a sudden burst of laughter from the living room; Emma descends the rest of the stairs and peeks her head in to get a look, rolling her eyes at what she sees. Killian is standing in the middle of the room, fireplace at his back, covered in tinsel and looking utterly pleased with himself. The source of the ruckus is, naturally, Henry, but she only knows that because he’s holding the upturned box of spare tinsel over Killian’s head still. He looks up, catches her eye, and grins the widest she’s ever seen, and the brightness of it warms her heart.

She ducks back out of the room, drink sloshing in its tumbler. Granny and Blue are still in the kitchen working on the roast and she feels a little obligated to offer her help. not that it’s her house; it’s Regina’s, of course, but Emma’s the one who orchestrated the whole party, which means she’s responsible for helping out - at least a little. (Sure, she cleaned the house and decorated it with Henry and Regina, but it doesn’t feel like enough, somehow.)

She smiles as she enters, the two older women bustling around the kitchen as only grandmothers can, both of them doing at least five things at once. Eyebrows raised, she waits for a lull in their movements (she’s a mother too, not a fool, and she knows what it is to interrupt a mother in a kitchen) before she greets, “Hey Granny, Blue - do you guys need anything? I - ”

“Oh, no, dear, of course not!” Granny has already put down the pan she was holding, shepherding Emma out of the kitchen with mittened hands and large, matronly gestures. Emma’s eyebrows rise; she hadn’t expected such a strong - or  _ quick _ \- reaction. “No no no! You go have a good time, dear, you’ve been working so hard - ”

“And while you’re out there,” Blue pipes up from where she’s bent over the roast, popping it into the oven, “you tell that Aladdin boy to leave my bread alone! It’s freshly baked, and you tell him it’s for dinner!” The tone of her voice is enough to tell Emma it’s not a first time offense, and unbidden, another smile quirks at her lips.

“I will, Granny,” she promises. “And I’ll be sure to tell him he’s on dish duty, too.”

Blue turns to look at Emma and frowns. “Why, no need to punish the dear,” she says, gentling. “He’s been through an awful lot, after all. But that doesn’t excuse him stealing my bread, mind!”

“Of course not,” Emma says sagely, and beats a hasty retreat before her grip on her laughter escapes her, darting out of the kitchen and into the adjoining dining room just as the music player shifts to  _ Baby It’s Cold Outside _ . She catches sight of Aladdin and Jasmine lingering around the far end of the table; they’re all shy smiles and bashful gazes, like teenagers on their first date, eyes only for each other. Archie and August are awkwardly shuffling their feet at the other end of the table, drinks in hand as they try to engage each other in conversation - having been, presumably, ditched when Aladdin and Jasmine spotted each other. Emma shakes her head, slipping from the room just as a stilted discussion about the weather begins between Archie and August. 

She decides to forget about the fact Jasmine and Aladdin were standing by the bread basket, figuring that - of all things to use to begin and keep up a conversation - bread isn’t the worst thing Aladdin could have used.

She dances around the group standing in the foyer - a more modest, comfortable one, with Belle, Leroy, Doc, both of Emma’s parents, Henry (who’s moved from the living room), and Cinderella at the center - and she dodges her father’s stray arm as it comes flying towards her. Emma shakes her head, smiling still, ducking past the mistletoe hanging in the doorway of the living room to maybe be around Killian for a while. Things have been awkward between them ever since they’d broken it off - though, Emma would be far from the truth if she said she regretted it at all. Killian and she weren’t meant for each other. He was okay with that, and so was she.

She takes a seat on the couch and catches Killian’s eye, shaking her head once more at his attempts to get the tinsel out of his hair. “Don’t tread on any of the presents,” she warns, because he’s standing dangerously close to the Christmas tree and isn’t paying any attention as to where he’s putting his feet. “It took Regina and I a long time to wrap those, you know.”

“And even longer to figure out what they would be and where to get them,” a wry voice chimes, and Emma glances over her shoulder, a pocket of warmth swelling in her chest at the sight of Regina - something that’s been happening more often than not, lately. The drink in Regina’s hand, like Emma’s, is untouched - in fact, it’s probably for show more than anything, Emma thinks, regardless of how relaxed Regina actually is. With all the awfulness of the Evil Queen gone (and Gold having decided, for some reason, to stay away from them tonight), it’s probably a welcome reprieve, to be able to sit back and watch people have fun and relax at her presence instead of be frightened of it. Emma thinks that Regina would want to be as sober as she could, for that.

_ O Holy Night  _ shuffles on.

_ “Speaking _ of presents,” Killian drawls, having apparently given up the fight against the tinsel as he bends down to pick up one of them, “don’t we all get some too, eh? As your guests?”

Regina scowls at him just as Emma scoffs goodnaturedly. “Henry’s doing, I assure you,” she assures. “He was determined to get presents for everyone this year, including ruffians like you who probably deserve coal over anything.”

Killian places a hand over his heart and gasps, horrified. “You wound me, Swan. It’s as if you don’t think my charming alcoholism or my wonderful sense of wit is any good anymore.” He flips the box; the tidy, elegant script on it is Regina’s, recognizable even from where Emma is standing. “Hah,” he says, without malice or mockery. “ _ To Grandma, love Henry.  _ Sweet.”

“Don’t you have some other person to bother, Hook?” Regina says, perhaps sharper than she intends. “Or do you mean to stand here and make an embarrassment of yourself all night?”

Killian raises both his hands in appeasement. “No need to bite m’ head off,” he says, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips as he puts the present back down and picks up his empty drink tumbler instead. “M’ drink’s empty anyways; was about to go for a refill. Swan.” He tips his head in her direction, and beats a hasty retreat.

Emma sighs, but she’s not truly put out at all. For all he means well, occasionally Killian is too much, and they all know it. “You just had to drive him out, huh?” 

“Someone had to be your knight in shining armor.”

“Killian’s a friend now.”

“Mm, so the rumor mill says.”

“Because you care so much about the rumor mill.”

Regina shrugs, coming forward to sit on the chair adjacent to the couch Emma herself sits on. “What can I say?” Regina says. “I’m a Mills.”

Emma blinks. “Did you just make a surname pun?”

Regina smirks. “What? I have a sense of humor every now and then.”

“You’ll have to give me some warning; your old timey jokes always take me off guard.”

“Oh,  _ ouch _ .” There’s a teasing note for the weakness of her last comeback, done gracefully enough that it makes Emma smile instead of bristle.

“You know me,” she says, heat in her face. “I’m  _ ‘abrasive and brash’,  _ according to most.”

Regina hums a little. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

They fall into companionable silence, the chatter of the guests soft in the background. From the dining room, _ I’ll Be Home For Christmas _ shuffles on, twinkling as a gentle base under all the noise. 

Regina takes a sip of her drink for the first time that night and says, “you know, I’ve never actually listened to these Christmas songs. Not in depth, anyway.” At Emma’s look, she jerks her head a little in lieu of a shrug. “There was always some plot to carry out or some imbecile to kill, especially around the holidays. Plus, that was on top of shopping for Henry. It wasn’t as if I actually wanted to listen to the awful things.”

“They’re literally always on the radio, especially around this time. Searching for Henry’s presents this year was like...I walked into seventeen different stores, and each one would be playing the same Christmas radio station!"

Regina laughs at her indignation, a rich, hearty sound that sends Emma’s heartbeat into overdrive and the butterflies in her stomach fluttering. “Well,” says Regina dryly, “it’s not as if I get the chance to listen to the radio much anymore. And I happened to have everything delivered here - Belle was nice enough to run out and get it all for me. I haven’t been feeling very personable out on the town, as of late.”

Instantly, though she knows Regina doesn’t intend for her to do so, Emma feels a pang of guilt. It hadn’t been her intention to bring back the events of this year with the Evil Queen - all of the fallout that occurred because of her and Jafar. Even though the Evil Queen had been a separate entity, many of the people of Storybrooke remembered a time when that had been Regina, once, and they had been - withdrawn. Hesitant around her. And that wasn’t fair, and that wasn’t Regina’s fault - but it wasn’t the people of Storybrooke’s fault either.

It took a lot of courage for Regina to be there, tonight. Even if it was her own house party.

As if hearing what Emma is thinking, Regina murmurs, “anything for Henry. You know that. I would endure anything for Henry.”

Emma knows the truth of it down to her bones. She nods, a little more tightly than she means to, and they tumble into silence once again, only the crackle of the fire and the background noise filling it. 

Regina staggers the quiet. “Henry,” she says, a note of surprise touching her voice just as Emma turns to face their son. “I thought you’d be stealing bread as badly as Aladdin is by now.”

Henry grins. “No,” he says, and plops down on the couch beside Emma. He holds up a roll, eyes glittering in triumph. “But I did manage to swipe this from under Granny’s nose.”   


Emma raises her eyebrows. “How’d you manage that?”

Henry’s grin somehow widens. “You’re only in trouble if you get caught, Mom,” he says, and takes a smug bite. Emma’s mouth hangs open.

“You,” Regina declares, “have been spending too much time with Killian.”

Emma snorts. “Are you kidding? That’s  _ all  _ Aladdin. Haven’t you seen the movie? There’s like, a whole musical number about it and everything.”

Henry huffs out a laugh, and it brings a smile to both Emma and Regina’s faces.  _ Anything for Henry _ is deep in their bones, carved on their hearts, tattooed into their skin. It’s an instinct as old as the earth itself. 

Henry clears his throat, smile abruptly dropping and expression morphing into something much more serious than Emma has ever seen. It’s strange, to see him so solemn -  caught in the teenage stage between boyhood and manhood, Henry looks all the world like a boy when he smiles, and to see him so abruptly morph into a man is - not disconcerting, but tinged with a wistfulness. Emma had been absent for many years of Henry’s life. It’s hard not to see him be a little boy for longer.

(And even that can’t possibly compare to how Regina must feel, having raised him practically from birth. Emma doesn’t delude herself into thinking it does.)

Henry’s been quiet for too long. “Is there something wrong, Henry?” 

Their son hesitates, looks to his shoes. “I just…” he pauses - finds the courage to meet their eyes. “I wanted to thank you. For everything. I know this year has been hard on you guys, and - I just really appreciate being able to get together like this, throw this party. Get everyone presents. I feel like…” his lips thin, earnestness in every part of his expression. “I feel like we’re a family, all of us, you know?”

Regina softens before Emma’s eyes, and though all her attention is dedicated to Henry, it warms Emma from the inside out. So rarely does Regina melt so fully, and it’s always a privilege - a gift - to see. “Of course, Henry,” she says, lips curved in the way that suggests another smile. “We all needed this, this year.”

“Yeah,” Emma agrees, but she can see the lie lurking in Regina’s eyes, in the shift of her shoulders. Henry’s gaze tracks the movement, surely picking up on the fib but not commenting on it. He doesn’t even turn to Emma to acknowledge that it’s there. 

“Well,” he says instead, another grin touching his lips, “thank you, seriously. I know you didn’t have to.” Then, before they can reply, he glances down at the roll in his hand - half eaten, nearly gone. “Well, I’m gonna go grab myself another roll,” he says, standing. “I’m too hungry to wait until dinner.”

Both Emma and Regina know it’s a lie, and they let it slide. They let a lot slide these days. “Tell Aladdin to stop eating all the bread,” Emma responds, and Henry pulls a face.

“He’s giving it all to Jasmine.”

“I knew he was using it as a pick-up.”

“It’s not like he needs one,” Henry says, and Regina’s eyebrows rise. Emma has to fight to keep the smirk she can feel at the corners of her mouth at bay. Henry pulls another face. “Shut up. I’ll be right back.”

“Tell him,” Regina reminds, and Henry flaps a hand at her from over his shoulder, halfway out the door. “I mean it!”

Henry doesn’t answer, already gone, and Emma and Regina stare after him.

There’s a beat of silence.

“He takes after you,” Emma says.

“Well that’s just not fair.”

“You raised him.”

It’s meant in jest; it falls flat. Regina just looks at her.

Emma can’t hold the gaze, and looks away. From the dining room,  _ Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas _ comes on.

“It doesn’t…it doesn’t. I’m not angry,” Emma says falteringly, trying to think of the right way to phrase it. “I’m not upset that you raised him. I guess I’m a little - jealous. That you got to see him grow up, and I - I was stupid enough to give him up in the first place.”

Regina’s eyebrows crease. “That’s hardly something to blame yourself for,” she says, and comes to take a seat beside Emma on the sofa. “You couldn’t have known how amazing he’d turn out to be. You were young and you were afraid. It wasn’t something you did out of malice - for you or Henry.” She pauses. “And if not for you, I’d have never gotten him.”

Emma’s eyes stray back to her, and for everything that Regina has done, for all she’s lied, her face is as honest and open as Emma has ever seen it. She sighs; diverts her gaze back to the fire because it’s easier to look there than to meet Regina’s own. “Doesn’t excuse that I gave him up. I gave up on him before I even tried.”

Regina’s lips purse, and there’s more silence for a time. “I don’t know what you want to hear,” Regina admits finally. “If it weren’t for your fear, I would have never met Henry, and these people would be just as fearful of me now as they were back before you came here. No one would know who they were. Aladdin and Jasmine would never have found each other. So many people would be worse off for it, including me. Henry is - everything to me. You and he are my family.”

Emma’s voice is hushed without intention when she speaks next, heart thumping against her ribs. “You mean that.” It isn’t so much a question as it is a statement - awed, breathed. Regina wouldn’t say something like that unless she meant it.

Regina’s eyes soften and trace the outline of Emma’s face, golden in the firelight. “Of course I mean that.”

Emma swallows. Her mouth is dry, her eyes full of stars, her heart full of all the unspoken things that have built up over the years that she hasn’t had the courage to say. Regina is tender, and loving, and good, and better to Henry than Emma has ever been, and the wistfulness that overtakes her sometimes hurts her, the pain deep and wholesome. And Regina laughs so rarely and loves so few and always, always, always has patience enough to remind Emma of the good things in life, and Emma has loved her so fully for so many years that it eats her up inside just to look at her.

And here Regina is, shining in the firelight, beautiful and sad and worried and lovely, and Emma can’t breathe for the force of how much she yearns to reach out and show Regina just how much she is loved and cherished and adored. She aches to smooth fingers over Regina’s cheek, to press her lips to Regina’s forehead, to soothe away all of Regina’s hurts. The pain, dull and familiar, is as comforting as a well-worn blanket. It’s certainly kept Emma warm at night for as long as a well-worn blanket could.

But here Regina is, glowing in the firelight, ethereal in her beauty, and Emma can’t stand it.

It slips out, unbidden, between lips that yearn to press against Regina's.

“I love you,” Emma breathes.

And Regina, in all of her captivating goodness, smiles.

“I know,” she says, and leans forward, and presses her lips to Emma’s cheek, and it’s with all the tenderness Emma had ever hoped for and all the longing she’d ever wished for. 

“You mean it?” She whispers, because she needs to hear it, needs to hear that it’s true, that Regina truly does; she knows Regina never says anything if she doesn’t mean it - but human beings are not without fault, and Regina is no different. It’s a plea more than it’s a question.

Regina’s smile grows fond, sweetness at its edges. “Of course I mean it.”

The next kiss is gentle, directly to Emma’s lips, delicate and full of all the promises Emma had ever wanted there to be. 

The world around them twinkles with fairy lights. Christmas colors are strewn around the room, the scent of pine in the air. From a ways away, the guests are chuckling and chatting, the chinking of glasses and the quiet sounds of the party filling every nook and cranny of the once-lonely mansion. Distantly, Emma thinks she can hear Henry laughing.

And, as a base under it all, are the cheerful, quiet notes of  _ All I Want For Christmas Is You. _

Emma smiles fondly, and doesn’t need to acknowledge it as she goes to kiss Regina again - because she can feel it pressed against Regina’s lips.


End file.
